Silence of the Night
by April1
Summary: Rory/Tristan. The Christmas season has a way of bringing two people closer together. But, in this case, will it work? If given the chance, something rare and unexpected just may be found.
1. Default Chapter

Pairing: As if you don't know me by now… R/T of course.

Spoilers: None.

Rating: I'm going to go with PG-13 to be on the safe side.

Disclaimer: Don't own them. If I did, Tristan would still be on "Gilmore Girls."

Author's Note: What you need to know - This fan fiction takes place during Christmas break of their junior year at Chilton. Yeah, I know it's not technically the Christmas season yet, but knowing how slowly I write, this fic will still be carrying along until then. The season one finale never happened. Rory never got back together with Dean, and Tristan never left, of course. Just the usual circumstances of my happy Trory world. We can't have lovely Troriness on the show, so I must satisfy myself by reading and writing fic. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first part! Please let me know what you think by kindly clicking on the review button. Your thoughts are greatly appreciated. ;) On to the story! And don't worry, there will be more to come.

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Silence of the Night

Rory trudged through the swarm of students eager to begin their long-awaited Christmas holidays. She reached her locker and rested her head against the solid, cool metal of the door, letting out an almost inaudible sigh of relief. But somehow, he heard it. She fiddled with the tricky handle, still having not mastered that one skilled fist thump that would offer her access to its confines. Finally opening the darned thing, she slid out several notebooks, dumping them into the book bag balancing precariously on her lifted knee. And not giving a thought to any curious glances that might have been thrown his way, he watched her, falling into the seemingly disinterested, yet somewhat longing stare he had developed a knack for since she had entered his life. His heart skipped an indisputable beat as her hand, which had been clutching tightly to the strap of her book bag, reached up to swipe away an errant strand of silky, chocolate brown hair that had fallen out of her barrette. He clearly felt the need to do it for her. Had long ago given up repressing it. 

She hefted the heavy British History textbook out of her locker with one hand, groaning as it crashed to the black and white tiled floor in a heap of crumpled pages. Fisting her fingers in her plaid skirt she bent down to pick it up, but another hand beat her to it - one that was undeniably masculine, bearing that familiar silver ring on his middle finger.

Tristan.

She stood up slowly, focusing her attention firmly on her saddle shoe clad feet before making the mistake of raising her eyes to meet his. His eyes penetrated into hers, the deep blue hue only accentuated by the flecks of gold dancing mischievously in their irises. He saw her studying him and allowed himself to reveal in it for a moment, the smirk forming habitually on his full lips. His gaze roamed leisurely down the length of her body, satisfied with the innocent blush that spread across her cheeks. It wasn't very often that Rory Gilmore let herself be flustered, and he took pleasure in the fact that he could do that. It was almost like a feeling of protectiveness mingled with a hint of ownership. But she wasn't his. His greatest fear was that she never would be.

He handed the book back to her, purposely letting his fingers brush against hers in a lingering manner as she took the cumbersome volume from him. The electricity sparked from that simple touch, and he couldn't help but wonder if she had felt it too. Her eyes flashed up at him, her brow furrowed, as she shoved the book into her bag and zipped it closed. His gaze skimmed over her nearly empty locker before landing on the full book bag she struggled to pull over her shoulders. "Don't you know that Christmas break isn't the time for marathon studying sessions?"

She rolled her eyes at him mockingly, but punctuated it with a chuckle, letting him know she wasn't annoyed with him. Yet. "It's not like I'm going to be up all night studying."

"Right. You save the all night studying for the two hundred and some school nights, give or take the times you spend drunk at the kegger parties."

She slammed her locker door closed, turning around to face him again. "Yep, that's me. I enjoy coming home drunk and waking up with a hangover. In fact, my mom encourages it."

"Rory Gilmore, drunk. Now that's something that I would like to see. Scratch that. That's something I would actually like to experience." He accompanied the remark with that trademark leer of his, resulting in that familiar eye roll of hers.

"Not likely to happen anytime in the near future." She shrugged her book bag on her shoulders and headed down the hall towards the double doors that led outside to the courtyard, not surprised when his tall frame fell into step beside of her. He was walking inches apart from her, his arm, clad in the obligatory, blue Chilton blazer, occasionally bumping against hers. This time last year she wouldn't have thought twice about the urge she would have to jerk away from him, but now… Now, it was different somehow. She found herself fighting that exact same urge, a part of her wanting to surrender to it.

They walked past their exuberant classmates, huddled in groups in front of walls of lockers whose surfaces were plastered with patterns of paper snowflakes, their edges already curling with the wear and tear of having been up since the week after Thanksgiving. Reaching the entrance to the deserted courtyard, Tristan stepped ahead of her, holding the door open as she walked through. 

She raised a single eyebrow at him, her breath already misting in the crisp winter air. "Wow," she stated simply, deliberately putting a tone of exaggerated awe into her voice.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, preventing himself from reaching out and touching her face, rosy from the cold. "Wow, what?"

"Wow, you opened the door for me."

"I'm a guy. Guys do things like that."

She quirked a half smile at him. "Yeah, but that's not a Tristan type of guy thing to do."

"Then what is a Tristan type of thing to do?" He asked, genuinely interested in what she had to say, because, hell, she just fascinated him.

She lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Oh, I don't know. Staring into the mirror for hours each morning, perfecting each last strand of hair so the girls will have even more reason to swoon at your feet."

"I don't stare into the mirror for an hour." He grinned. "I've cut down to forty-five minutes," he whispered conspiratorially, jokingly. Then his eyes darkened as he stepped closer, blocking her next to the building with his hands on the wall beside her head. "You really think girls swoon at my feet, huh?"

She felt a shiver travel up her spine despite the heat radiating from his warm, firm body. "The way they flitter and flip their hair in your presence, I'd say so. Obviously," she added sarcastically but unnecessarily, her intended quip falling short of its mark.

He lowered his head slightly towards hers, treating her to a whiff of his light, spicy aftershave that had her senses reeling. "Do you swoon, Rory?"

"I don't swoon," she replied indignantly, her voice dry. Refusing to meet his gaze, she focused on the sky above his spiky, blond locks, the clouds drifting in in that fluffy, cumulous way that signaled a snowfall was drawing near.

One solitary finger trailed over her cheek to hook under her jaw, forcing her eyes to lift to his. "Bet I could change that."

Her mind searched frantically for a comeback, something she was usually never short of, but now it failed her as soon his exquisite orbs locked on hers. An unmarred, extremely perfect blue. A gasp caught in her throat as she pushed a hand gently against his chest and slipped under his outstretched arm. She walked around the corner of the building and into the parking lot, vaguely hearing his footsteps crunching on the frozen grass behind her. He caught up with her in two strides, his long legs surpassing the distance between them. When she stopped to peruse the street for her bus, he took that opportunity to confront her with the information he had discovered the other day. "By the way, I wanted to show you this." He removed the cream-colored envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

Seeing the familiar return address of her grandparent's, her curiosity peaked. She used her thumb to flip open the envelope and slid out the invitation that had been printed on her grandmother's own personal stationary. Her eyes quickly skimmed the words printed there and then widened in surprise when she looked up at Tristan. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope." He rocked back casually on his heels, an annoyingly pleased smirk gracing his chiseled features. Tapping a finger on his chin in a thoughtful manner, he sidled up to her, tilting his head to gaze at her inquisitively. "It just so happens that our grandfathers just closed a pretty major business deal, and the Gilmores cordially invited my grandparents to join them for Christmas Eve dinner." In a casual, but all too intimate move, he let his hand drift over her arm and down to her hand, his index finger curling lightly around her own before releasing it. "And would you believe that I was asked to come along?"

Reflexively, she jerked away from him, tucking one arm around the notebook she held like a shield against her chest. She tried valiantly to ignore the tingles that danced across her skin at his touch but failed miserably. Tracing her finger over the gold printed calligraphy on the invitation, she sent a irritated glare his way. "Key word, Tristan. Your name isn't on this invitation."

"See, that's the best part. My grandfather had mentioned before that you and I, going to the same school, more than likely know each other."

"Not by choice."

"Oh, that hurts me deeply, Rory."

"Good, now if I could just find a sword to drive that remark in even deeper."

He chuckled, amused at her antics, and that only served to rile her even more. "As I was saying, your grandmother thought it would be nice for you to make a few friends at Chilton, starting with me of course, since we all know that I'm the be all and end all of the Chilton popularity chain." He winked at her devilishly. "Plus, who can resist me?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "You're embellishing. There's no way she would say that."

"What can I say? They love me already."

"The air that has inflated your head has made you delirious."

"Your grandmother wanted you to have someone your own age there."

"There's a cat that lives next door. He's almost blind in one eye and can barely walk straight, but he's sixteen years old. So, it's not like I'm not going to have someone close to my age there." She met his smirk bit for bit, challenging him in a way that only she could.

"A sixteen year old cat? That's what - like, ninety-two in human years? I'm surprised he has any fur left."

"He's actually really sweet. He'll even curl up in your lap if you give him some milk or catnip. I'll have no problems with him keeping me company."

Tristan nudged her with his shoulder, his voice suddenly taking on a husky tone. "How about I curl up in your lap instead?"

She shoved the invitation back at him, throwing up her hands in frustration. "That's exactly why they wouldn't invite you. Anyone who knew of you would realize that your main goal in life is to torment me."

"I'm sure my grandfather made me seem as perfect as possible. Though he probably didn't have to work too hard for that."

"And if I roll my eyes any harder, they're going to fall out of their sockets."

"Aw, Rory. Then you wouldn't be able to see me and revel in my incredible sexiness."

"I'll try to withhold the drool."

"Hey, is that some right there?" He reached up, rubbing his thumb lightly over her bottom lip, his eyes never wavering from hers. And, of course, the smirk was happily making an appearance.

She lifted her hand to her mouth, bumping his own hand as he quickly withdrew it, jamming it into his pocket. He ducked his head, imitating a movement of shame, but the evil twinkle in his eyes revealed to her that he was obviously faking it. She couldn't even begin to comprehend why just a simple touch from him had her stomach somersaulting all the way into her chest. She didn't even want to begin to decipher the meaning, afraid of what she might find. Watching him nod a greeting to one of their classmates in that casual, but yet in that all too confident manner, she knew that somewhere, somehow things had changed. Yes, he still had that annoying habit of infuriating her, but from that infuriation had spawned an intrigue. An intrigue that made her want to know more about the person that he was, to break down that outer shell that kept him guarded from others. 

And it wasn't just the yearn for knowledge. It was a well placed, yet sarcastic remark from him, that before would have made her want to punch him, but now had her smiling upon recalling it later in the day. It was a flutter of nerves here, a tingle at a whispered touch there. And when he turned those cool cobalt eyes back to her now, it was an increased pounding in her heart. In that expert way, he flicked his eyes slowly down her body and then confidently, self-assuredly met her gaze head-on, an unashamed grin plastered on his face. His eyes searched hers, as if looking for acceptance, and she felt herself being inexplicably drawn to him. Into what was yet unknown, but begging to be given a chance for exploration.

"Rory."

Two syllables. Her name, something innately familiar, but coming from his lips, it sounded new, exciting. He made it seem like it was rare, precious, and all together his. It was said in a way that had a flush spreading across her cheeks and had her questioning the tentative friendship they had built that previous year. And exactly when it had had her toying with the prospect of more. More? Her absence from coffee for the past few hours had undoubtedly done a number on her scattered brain. This was Tristan. Nothing more, nothing less. They were lucky to get through one verbal sparring match without biting each other's heads off. He was still staring at her, one eyebrow arched in amusement, no doubt wondering what could possibly be going on in her head. If he only knew. 

She cleared her throat awkwardly, averting her gaze to the several students who were straggling out of Chilton's doors towards their cars. She jerked her eyes back hastily as he snorted derisively, obviously pleased that he had, indeed, won the last word in their latest installment. "So, shouldn't you be jetting off with your parents to someplace warm for the holidays like Bermuda? Or Hawaii where there are lots of volcanoes for you to be sacrificed in?" She offered him a tiny smile, but it disappeared when she was met with a frown rather than one of his other typical remarks.

He hesitated before opening his mouth, unsure of exactly what to say to her, but chastising himself for not trusting her. "My parents are."

"But they left you here by yourself?"

"Yeah." His answer was crisp and to the point. His family was never at the top of his list for topics of discussion. He shrugged lightly in what he hoped appeared to be an act of indifference. But he should have known she, of all people, would see right through it.

"And that bothers you."

"I could care less. After all, I'm used to it. It's my little sister…"

Rory's eyes widened, puzzled. "I didn't even know you had a sister."

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, causing the blond tendrils to stick up in that messy yet still attractive way. "Proves that you don't know me as well as you think."

"I'm sorry." She frowned at her own comment, wondering why she should feel sorry for something that was not her fault. But, yet it was. She had never even given him the chance to let her know him.

"You never asked."

"I will. Next time."

He felt his heart turn over then at the possibility that she was looking ahead towards another time, and that she wanted the opportunity to know him. Unlike others, who were satisfied just to have him. "My sister is the one they hurt. She doesn't deserve to be left without her parents over Christmas. No child does."

"I can't even imagine what that must be like." And she couldn't. She had never been without someone who loved her and who wanted to spend time with her. Christmas was a time for being with your loved ones, and not having that would be unbearable.

"They make her cry, Rory."

"But they must know that this isn't right. Don't they call?"

"Oh, they call and her face lights up as they give her false promises that they'll be home the next day. Something always 'comes up' to where they are detained, and they break her heart all over again."

She placed her hand on his arm in a comforting, gentle manner, curling her fingers around his jacket. "She's lucky to have you."

"Yeah, well… I do what I can for her, but that's sometimes just not enough." He turned away from her quickly, but not before she glimpsed the anger mingled with a distinct sadness in his eyes. He wasn't accustomed to opening up to anyone like that, and now that he had, he felt slightly vulnerable. He glanced around, seeing that none of the other remaining students were paying any attention to them, an unusual blessing. Only Rory. And that was enough.

She scuffed her shoe at a frozen puddle in the pavement, sending tiny shards of ice sparkling in the sun that peeked out from behind the clouds. "You should probably come on Christmas Eve."

"Okay, now that you feel sufficiently sorry for me…" His voice trailed off, accompanied by a dry sense of humor. 

"No. I want you to come, and not because I feel sorry for you." And in that moment, a part of her realized that she did want him there. If only just to see him.

"Really?" His question was tinged with doubt, and he was finding it hard to believe that she was actually standing in front of him, offering him acceptance into her world. Something that was uniquely and only hers.

"Yes. Really." She smiled at him, her eyes bright and enthusiastic. "Though, I still can't believe that my grandparents actually invited you." She made a tsking noise with her tongue, but grinned, letting him know that her invitation still followed the rules of their well-played game.

"Well, it was easy. They don't know my deepest fantasies concerning their granddaughter." He had immediately recovered from their previous conversation, bouncing back into the heavily laced innuendos he reserved for her alone.

She had been expecting that and was prepared. "Who would want to know the things that go on inside your head? A horror movie would seem like a lullaby but without the music."

"If you did know, I doubt you could handle it." He replied innocently, intending to spark her curiosity, and it was obvious by her furrowed brow and the way she chewed her lip that he did just that.

She rolled her eyes, pasting a disgusted look on her face. "I was right. I really don't want to know. It would mean risking permanent damage to my cerebellum."

"Maybe if you're _lucky_ enough, one day you'll find out." He leered at her, placing extra emphasis on the word lucky, watching as she blinked in surprise.

She snapped out of it a second later, but not quickly enough to hide the blush that seemed to have found a permanent home on her cheeks whenever she was in his presence. "And I'm sure 'lucky' is being used in the most innocent, naïve way possible."

It was his turn to be more than a little shocked. He had thrown her a heavily veiled innuendo, and instead of brushing it off, she had played with it, turning it around to her liking and tossing it back to smack him in the face. "How can I say this? My fantasies aren't exactly PG-13. If you know what I mean." 

"Oh, so they're G?"

"Not exactly." He pursed his lips, making a kissing sound.

She groaned, exasperated, but then couldn't help laughing at his 'cat who ate the canary' expression.

"Why else would I keep them hidden in my journal?"

"You keep a journal." Add that to the list of things she had learned about him, things she never thought would be a part of who he was.

"Yeah, but you'll never read it."

"What makes you think I want to read it?"

"You're a nosey girl, Rory. You want to know about my life, and your name's bound to come up occasionally." He smirked as she rolled her eyes disdainfully.

"You really are incorrigible."

"And you, Rory Gilmore, are beautiful."

Her eyes shot up to his face, searching for any sign that would show her he was teasing, falling into his self-confident, egotistical mindset that allowed him to say anything to someone of the opposite sex and not mean a word of it. Her search was futile. His eyes had taken on a serious, intense look as they pierced straight into hers, almost as if he could see into and through her. As if he were consumed by her. Their blueness appeared even darker than normal, a mix of shadow and storms as he drank her in, preparing to lose himself in her for the millionth time. There was no habitual smirk, no leer that would give away his true intentions - only a half-smile that played tantalizingly with one side of his mouth. A genuine, sincere smile directed at her. 

And that rocked her to the very core.

The roar and horn of her bus echoed behind her, saving her when a smart remark couldn't. For the first time, she couldn't muster anything to say to him. She knew then, that Tristan did, indeed, have an affect on her. 

He always had. She hadn't let herself feel it until now. 

"I… I need to catch my bus." She motioned with her hand to the vehicle, a path of exhaust smoke trailing from behind it, but her feet remained frozen.

"Okay." He did allow a small, self-confident smirk then to, almost unknowingly, cross his face.

"I'm going to miss it." Her feet still stood motionless.

"You better go, then."

"I'm gone." One last lock of their eyes and then she was jogging off to the bus, her book bag jostling on her back. He took a few steps closer, hands in his pockets, watching her as he had countless times before, because for him in that moment, she was the only thing that existed in his world. And then he laughed.

And somehow, as she climbed up the steps to the bus and the door whooshed closed behind her, she heard it.

It was a warm, carefree sound, commiserating over things lost, and more important things that had been gained in such a short time. It was a sense of happiness, of freedom. He had been given another opportunity with her, and only a fool would let it go to waste. Tristan DuGrey was no fool.

Rory settled into her seat, trying not to, but still unable to keep her eyes from drifting over to the window and seeking out his familiar form. She rubbed her hand over the glass, clearing away the layer of moisture that marred her view. She saw his retreating back as he headed to his car, and she unconsciously trailed a finger over the glass, remembering his words from a few moments before.

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Beautiful…

She shook her head, trying not to focus on it or him, as the bus carried her home to Stars Hollow, where her mom, Luke's coffee, and her flannel pajamas waited. As it took her to her place of comfort, it was also furthering the distance from him. And she didn't want to think about why that bothered her, but a part of her knew. In two nights, she would be sharing a dinner table with him, and she would be forced to confront the true meaning of those words and how they made her feel.

More importantly, she would once again have to confront Tristan.

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To Be Continued…

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	2. Chapter Two

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Disclaimer: See Part One

Author's Note: Bet you thought you would never see the next part of this fan fiction, did you? Well, let me start off by saying that there was a time when I seriously considered not finishing this story. I had hit a funk where Rory and Tristan were concerned. That can be blamed on the whole Chad/Dawson's Creek factor, or that I was just simply burnt out on writing. It was more than likely a combination of the two. Since I have never been one to quit something that I have been in the middle of, I've decided to give this story another chance. Plus, I didn't want to leave you guys hanging. ;) I still don't think that I "feel" Rory and Tristan like I have before in my previous fanfics, and once you read, you'll probably see what I mean. I'm still a Trory, but their relationship doesn't seem to flow as smoothly for me anymore, hence the burnout. But I plan to stick it out and finish the story. This part is rather short and mainly POV, but it is necessary to develop what is going to happen in the third, and final, part. 

I want to thank all of you for the kind reviews you have given this story so far. Your opinions are definitely appreciated more than you could know. So, don't hesitate to let me know what you think about this part as well. Feedback is a fiction writer's pay.

The shards of ice crunched on the sidewalk with each step of her feet, the shattering of it echoing harshly in the brisk Christmas Eve air. She pulled the collar of her coat closer to her body, the fleece edging providing little relief from the freezing breeze that wafted around her legs and fluttered the simple, black skirt around her knees as she hurried back to her house. The numbing in her fingers signaled her foolishness at deciding not to wear gloves. The tiny lights decorating the trees of Stars Hollow were the only glimpse of stars that were visible since the sky was washed in a sea of clouds, blocking out the light from the heavens. A development that surely had the weathermen gushing the possibility of a white Christmas. As she passed Luke's, windows ablaze with warm light, she contemplated indulging in a mug of coffee, at the very least hot chocolate, but her weariness protested otherwise. 

*****

The long evening came rushing back to her, when only hours before, she and Lorelai had been preparing for dinner at her grandparents' in Hartford. It seemed like days ago. As she had put on the pearl earrings her mother had lent her, she had caught her reflection in the mirror, noting a crimson glow that had unknowingly crept across her cheeks. She had tilted her head from side to side, wondering what others saw when they looked at her. Wondering what he saw. She had abruptly turned away from the mirror then, chastising herself for even caring what he thought of her. His opinion didn't matter. He didn't mean anything to her. She had lost count of how many times she had to convince herself of these facts, but she knew it was futile. 

Her mother had called her name, and she had hurried down the stairs, the butterflies in her stomach finally awakening and stretching their wings, as if in anticipation of seeing him again at dinner that night.

Then the phone had rung.

Lane had been in a panic, her words tumbling over the other as she desperately tried to explain her predicament to her best friend. "Henry… Christmas Eve… dinner… plane to Korea."

"You and Henry are eloping?" Rory had joked.

Lane took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh of air. "We might as well be as far as my mother is concerned. Henry called earlier and mentioned that he really wanted to spend Christmas Eve with me, and I just kept thinking about how sweet that was. So I told him that he could come to my house for dinner. My mind didn't process the fact that my mother doesn't know, and I will more than likely be shipped out on the next plane to Korea. Goodbye Rory. It was nice knowing you. I'll leave you my entire hidden CD collection."

"Lane… Lane, calm down. There's no reason to start making your will yet. Just tell Mrs. Kim that you invited him to dinner."

"Rory, this is my mother we're talking about here. The one who likes to keep Kim Christmas Eve dinners a private matter, barring the occasional plethora of relatives that stop by. And her plans do not include a boy. Especially not a boy who her daughter is semi-dating, when she believes that said boy will stop at nothing until he turns me into one of those other wild teenagers who disobey their parents by staying out until 1:00 in the morning!" Lane's voice rose steadily with each word, prompting Lorelai to bend her head down closer to the phone so she could hear bits of the conversation.

Rory chuckled despite her friend's hysterics. "Yeah, I'm sure Henry is going to introduce you to the dark side right before he has his way with you."

"That's exactly what my mother thinks! I'm surprised that she hasn't been watching _America's Most Wanted _every week for his picture. Rory, you have to come."

Rory bit her lip, shooting a glance at Lorelai who shrugged her shoulders, smiling sympathetically. "Lane, my grandparents are having their dinner tonight and…"

"If you come, then it won't seem like a date, because you'll be there. Hopefully that will provide my mother with some sense of comfort, so she won't be searching for the cheapest one-way ticket to Korea for me."

Rory frowned thoughtfully, feeling torn. She had never missed a dinner on Christmas Eve at her grandparents' house, and she didn't think they would take it too well if she started now. But Lane was her best friend, and they had always been there for each other, no matter the circumstance. She clutched the phone tightly in her hand, gazing at Lorelai questioningly. Lorelai nodded with conviction, silently gracing her daughter with understanding. Rory lifted the receiver back up to her ear. "I'm on my way." After her friend's rush of frantic thanks, she sighed deeply, turning to Lorelai with an apologetic smile.

Lorelai greeted her with an amused grin, wrapping an arm around her daughter's shoulder. "You know, I should start taking some cues from you. Sookie and I need to consult about her calling due to some unknown, mysterious problem so I can start getting out of Friday night dinners. Tell me, oh wise one, how do you manage to escape the night of endless tortures?"

Rory groaned, giving her mother a gentle push towards the door. In the rush of confusion, it had somehow slipped her mind that her grandparents weren't the only ones who would be affected by her absence that night at dinner.

*****

Now, as she shoved open the door to her empty house, regret and apprehension washed over her like a heavy wave, intent on dragging her down to the bottom. She stripped off her coat, slinging it on the hook in the closet as she made her way to the living room and collapsed on the couch. With the click of a switch, the lights on the Christmas tree sparkled on, providing the barest hint of light in the darkness of the room. She rested her head on the back of the couch, the sweet, spicy scent of pine tingling her nose.

And tried to think about anything, everything but him. She didn't want to focus on the fact that he was there at her grandparents' house, eating dinner. She didn't want to remember the way his face had immediately brightened when she had finally given in and invited him to spend Christmas Eve with her. Or the way her knees had automatically, irreversibly weakened in response. Her guilt was only barely placated by the notion that he had probably skipped the dinner in order to attend some girl's holiday party. In fact, he was probably cuddled up with her right now…

She winced, feeling a sharp, unfamiliar burning in her stomach that worked its way up to claw at her heart. The thought of him with another girl suddenly made her nauseous. She shoved her fist repeatedly into the pillow at her side, frustrated at herself for turning into one of those jealous girls whom she vowed she would never become. Especially over someone like Tristan DuGrey.

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"And you, Rory Gilmore, are beautiful."

With something resembling an annoyed growl, she attempted to drive his words from her mind, but they had already been permanently branded there. She had done the only thing that should have been considered. She had helped her best friend out when she had been in need. Dinner at the Kim's had gone rather smoothly, only marred by Mrs. Kim's look of disdain when Henry had entered with Lane, but she had seemed reassured slightly when Rory had followed.

She had been there when her friend had needed her the most, but in the process she couldn't help but feel that she had let someone else down. Someone, who somehow in the course of the past year, had become almost a friend. But is that really what Tristan was? Friends don't make your heart feel like it's beating our of your chest at just a simple touch. And they certainly don't have you toying with the possibility of experiencing their kiss again. Just one more time to feel his smooth, full lips against yours.

Unconsciously, she lifted her fingers to her own lips, remembering the soft, gentleness of his kiss from that night at Madeline's party. She shook her head slightly, attempting to banish those thoughts from their endless circle in her mind, if only for a moment, as she took in the glorious sight of the Gilmore Christmas tree. Each ornament had been hung with care, the occasionally expensive glass figurine, dispersed among childishly creative ones that Rory had made in elementary school. And there, near one of the very top boughs, hung the solitary angel, his arm stretched out to the side with open hand beckoning, as if he were searching for something that only he could find when the time was right. He was only one half of a pair, incomplete now for so many years. She and her mother had searched antique stores year after year for the other angel, but their quest had thus far been fruitless. So the figurine floated alone, not unlike the young girl curled up on the couch, feet tucked under her legs and locks of hair draped over her face like a canopy, who appeared to be lost in a fog of tumultuous thoughts. Thoughts of a tall, blond enigma who had suddenly turned her world upside down, rocking her to the very core.

*****

He tugged off his jacket and threw it angrily on the plush couch, catching a glimpse of his dejected features in the gilded mirror that hung on the wall, among a dozen other valuable prints from various artists. He almost laughed mirthlessly at the fool he had become. Since when did he, of all people, moon around over a girl because she didn't show? But she wasn't just any girl. Normally, he would have shrugged it off, joining one of the many females that worshipped him at their house, and doing whatever the hell he wanted. Yet, when Lorelai had entered Richard and Emily's house without Rory, his heart had tumbled over in defeat, a feeling once foreign to him. His initial reaction was that she had bailed because of him, then Lorelai had explained the true meaning behind her daughter's absence. It was just like Rory to care so much about others, even if it meant sacrificing spending Christmas Eve with her family. And if it were possible, he fell even harder.

He wasn't supposed to be experiencing this wide range of emotions, especially when it came to her. He had adapted his game with stealth precision, so these hindering feelings, if they ever attempted to strike, would do nothing but bounce harmlessly off the strong wall he had built. Leave it to her to break that wall. In fact, not only had it been broken, but the bricks had been crumbled into a fine dusting at the mere touch of her gentle hand. He didn't know how it had happened, nor did he want to dwell on why. One day, one silent moment, she had glanced at him with those captivating blue eyes, and he had lost himself to her. Tristan DuGrey's heart had finally been stolen. Only the thief didn't want it.

He stood in front of his family's Christmas tree, the excessive array of presents obligatorily piled beneath it. He had always been selfish, a characteristic that often led to him not caring about the feelings of others. If that sort of thing could be hereditary, the shift of the blame would be on his parents. The sparkle of porcelain ornaments defined what they were - a classy, seemingly picture-perfect family, supported by the levels of society, but with one shift of the branch, they would fracture, exposing their deep, inner rifts. He reached up, closing his fist around the bone-chillingly, cold porcelain, an ornament that had more than likely been shipped over from France or another exotic location. One slip and it would shatter. If it weren't for fear of upsetting his sister, who was sleeping quietly up stairs, or sending a flurry of hired help running, he would have done it. Just for spite. Heaving a disgruntled sigh, he padded back to the parlor, the freezing marble floors sending goose bumps peppering his skin. The sudden dip in temperature wasn't due to the threatening snow storm, but because of everything the mansion stood for. The kind of cold that hurts, branding a searing, physical pain in your heart in the absence of what should be actual familial love. 

He picked up the tiny package that had been resting on the entry table, it's deep green wrapping paper and golden satin bow sparkling in the dim light from the shaded lamp. He tossed it from hand to hand, delicately, almost reverently, pausing to examine the simple name that had been scrawled on the gift tag. A rueful smile twitched at his lips as he slid open one of the drawers, his hand containing the gift hovering over the gaping, dark void, almost as if he were contemplating disposing of the package. One hand still holding the gift, he braced his other arm on the table, his forehead pressed against the cold, sturdiness of the wall. No force from the expensive heating system could fill the DuGrey mansion with the quintessential warmth that it so desperately needed. This warmth is spawned from love, not a word that is just uttered meaninglessly as a habit, and above all else, the simple gift of acceptance. He had never been one to dwell on the impossible. But now he found himself needing this, craving this. From her.

His fingers around the package loosened slightly, before closing around it again, as if in comfort, as he slid it into the pocket of his pants. In a hasty decision, he grabbed his keys and jerked open the front door, retreating into the twilight.

__

To Be Continued…


	3. Chapter Three

Author's Note: Well, I hope you all enjoy this part. It's still shorter than the parts that I normally write, but I hope what happens makes up for it. As always, please kindly click on the review button and let me know what you think. ;)

She stood in the kitchen, gazing out of the window into the dark, inky blackness of the night. Removing the plastic wrap from a plate of Sookie's sugar cookies, she bit into one, the sugar granules immediately melting sweetly on her tongue. The sudden, hollow sound of a knock on the front door startled her at first, as she dropped the half-eaten cookie back on the plate. Wiping her hands on the material of her pants, she hurried to the door, hesitating with her hand wrapped around the cool metal of the knob. When the hair at the back of her neck prickled, and her stomach flipped, somehow she knew whose form was concealed on the other side of the door. She slid the lock back, tugging the door open and her heart inexplicably skipped a beat at the sight of him.

The sky was awash with clouds behind him, blocking the luminescent glow from the moon, but the cobalt blue of his eyes still managed to flicker invitingly, enhanced by the navy sweater that he wore over a pair of crisp khakis. And he suddenly found it impossible to take his eyes off her, almost as if they were glued to her frame. She had changed into pajamas, a simple long-sleeved T-shirt and flannel bottoms, but he had never seen anyone more beautiful. And, for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Her hair was hanging loosely over her face, and she reached up to brush a strand out of her eyes causing her shirt to raise up ever so slightly, baring a slim expanse of her stomach. Swallowing deeply, his gaze was instinctively drawn downward to that creamy patch of skin. Mentally shaking himself, his head jerked back up to meet her stare as she, in turn, quickly glanced away, pulling at the hem of her shirt with fisted fingers. She hadn't missed the heat that had flared in his blue depths when they had skimmed up her body, and to know that he found her attractive in that way had her cheeks turning a tinge of pink in embarrassed pleasure.

He couldn't help the involuntary smirk that spread across his features at the knowledge of the affect that only he had on her. His piercing gaze never leaving hers, he chuckled in amusement as she did nothing but stand in the door way, making no attempt to move and let him in. Noticing his expectant expression, she blinked, quickly moving back to allow him access to her house. But with that one simple movement, it felt like she was allowing him access to so much more than that. He stepped inside, rubbing his hands together to relieve them from the numbness that had spread through them. Nervously, she fiddled with her fingers, locking her hands in front of her before finally crossing her arms in front of her chest. The way he was looking at her, a look that was a cross between practically devouring her and then something else she couldn't quite define, had her coherence taking a flying leap out the window. Not quite sure what to say, she managed to stammer, "I… I'm sorry that I wasn't there tonight. I had to…" Her voice trailed off, her throat drier than sandpaper.

"I know." He cleared his throat, nodding in understanding.

She frowned when he didn't respond with a typical smart-ass remark. "Oh," she said quietly. He took a step closer to her, and in his nearness, the babbling ensued. "I was just in the kitchen eating… Sookie brought over some cookies earlier. They're sugar… and homemade… and really good. Do you want one?" She felt like slapping herself over the head.

"No." His answer was simple, tinged with a irrefutable layer of huskiness as his eyes drank her in, not leaving much to the imagination of exactly what he wanted. A small smile quirked on his lips as he reluctantly broke the electric eye contact between them. "I missed you tonight."

She laughed then in complete disbelief. "You? Missed me?"

"Yeah, I didn't have anyone to torment." He rocked back on his heels as he casually delved into their well-played game. A game he now reserved only for her.

"I'm sure by the end of the night my grandparents were at their height of frustration where you are concerned."

"Actually, they loved me. I'd go as far to say that they're probably in the midst of planning our wedding right now. But, of course, the honeymoon details will be left up to me." Grinning lasciviously, his hand reached up to caress lightly down her arm, feeling her warmth beneath the cotton material of her shirt.

"I'm surprised my mother didn't kill you."

"Don't kid yourself, Rory. Your mom was quite taken with me, and all in all, it was a productive evening. But… I would much rather have been here, flirting with you." With that last sentence, his hand found her much smaller one as he pulled her in his direction.

"You're not flirting." She uttered it stubbornly, attempting to remove her hand from his but failing miserably. And in the back of her mind, she tried not to acknowledge the fact that their two hands were clasped together like they belonged there.

"I'm not?" His eyes twinkled with amusement and an unexpressed desire that he had had to hold back for far too long as his other hand slowly raised to point out the tiny bundle of mistletoe that hung in the doorway right over their heads.

Rory inwardly cursed Lorelai's decorating habits while rolling her eyes disdainfully at Tristan. "In your dreams," she muttered, frustrated, but still not making any move to separate herself from him.

"How did you know?" He faked an aura of shock.

"It's typical Tristan behavior."

"Well, Rory, it is a Christmas tradition, and I'm not one to go against that."

"Maybe you're not, but I am." She suddenly became very interested in their feet, her gaze fixedly trained on them. She knew that if she met his penetrating stare, she would lose herself in him, tossing away all hope of being rescued.

"Shame, Rory. You're going to anger the people who created this tradition, but I'm sure just a hug would suffice." He smiled triumphantly when she groaned in defeat.

Ever so slowly, she stepped closer to him, hesitating before placing her arms around his neck as her fingers grazed the soft, golden tendrils of his hair. Immediately, his arms moved to encircle her waist, his hands spanning the bare skin on her lower back as he gently pressed her body to his. He felt a shiver travel down her spine at his touch as his hand unknowingly slipped a little further underneath the back of her shirt. Quickly removing it, he ran his fingers through her hair, playing with several of the silky strands. "Relax, Rory." His request was barely a whisper of air against her ear as she felt her body melding to his, burying her face in his shoulder. The pressure of his lips to the top of her head and the soothing circles his hand was tracing on her back would have had her melting into a helpless puddle if it were not for the strength of his strong arms holding her up. It was almost as if he were holding a delicate china doll in his arms, a treasure meant to be cherished. He cleared his throat awkwardly, uneasily breaking the silence between them. "Rory, why did you let me kiss you that night at Madeline's party?"

She jerked her head from its resting place on his shoulder as she gazed wide-eyed up at him. She reflexively tried to take a step back, but he still held her tightly in his arms. His own eyes were filled with questions that only she had the ability to answer, but she was at a loss for words. She had no intentions of telling him the truth. That she had finally realized, after all this time, that a part of her had wanted him to kiss her that night. She was glad that he did. If he hadn't she wouldn't have known how a true kiss was supposed to make her feel - like she had been on the edge of a cliff only to tumble down at the sheer touch of his lips. As difficult as it was for her to admit, his kiss had left her wanting more of that feeling. Wanting more of him. But she could never, ever tell him that only to have him laugh mercilessly in her face. So, she responded in the only way she knew how. "I didn't let you."

With a tilt of his head combined with a small smirk, he brought up the point she knew he would. "You kissed me back."

She attempted a dry laugh, but it came out resembling something more like a squeak. "You caught me off guard."

"Well, if you kiss like that when you're caught off guard, I can't imagine what it be like when you know exactly what my intentions are." He dipped his head closer to hers, their lips mere centimeters apart, enabling her to smell the minty fragrance of his breath. "Like right now." His voice was rich with huskiness and almost unbearable need as his face moved nearer to hers. Intuitively, her eyelids fluttered closed as she moistened her lips in anticipation of his kiss. But it never came. His lips grazed her cheek, trailing a path to nuzzle the corner of her mouth before he pulled away. One glance at his impish smirk, and she knew that had been an intentional move on his part. 

A slow smile formed on one side of his mouth at the rosy blush their encounter had left on her cheeks. Oh, there was no doubt he had wanted to kiss her. The need for that was nothing less than overbearing, but he had reeled himself in with an extremely thin string of restraint. Taking it slow had always been crucial with her, but it was becoming increasingly difficult when his own undeniable need for her fought him every step of the way. "I better get going." He vaguely heard himself mutter those words, wanting to kick himself for backing off, for giving into doubts. Something that he was not entirely comfortable doing. When she just shuffled her feet, her eyes flitting from him to the door, he grudgingly turned his back on her as he took a step towards the door. Her soft, slightly pleading voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Tristan."

There was an underlying edge of tenderness present in the way she spoke his name, something that had almost always been absent before. He glanced over his shoulder at her, reveling in the small, welcoming smile that played daintily on her lips. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, he seemed to be contemplating the consequences of exploring a path that was still only a minute possibility in his every waking moment. She bit her lip thoughtfully, a gesture she had done a million times before, but this time it had his blood roaring triple time through his veins. In two steps, his long stride narrowed the distance between them as he cupped the back of her neck with his hand, feeling her tremble beneath his commanding touch. "Now you know that what's about to happen has nothing to do with tradition." The words came out in a deep, hushed growl as his lips claimed hers. Her eyes remained open in astonishment before they slowly closed as she responded to his glorious assault of her mouth. The embrace was feverish as his hand buried in the mass of her chocolate brown hair, his other hand fisting in the material at the back of her shirt. She bent her head back, allowing him easier access as his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth. After several minutes that only seemed like seconds, he broke the bond that had formed between them, his forehead moving to rest against hers. With each breath he took, it seemed to catch in his throat. 

He lifted his fingers to graze gently across her swollen, aching lips, both of them trying to console their labored breathing. As if it were almost innate, his mouth sought out hers again in the darkened room, one solitary finger tilting her chin up to meet his. He leisurely, tantalizingly caressed her mouth with his this time, savoring the taste of her and the way her limbs were turning to Jell-O against him. With each sensation coursing through her body, Rory could feel herself becoming one with him. Nothing else existed. It was akin to a deliberate, unhurried seduction as her fingers curled around the beads of his puka shell choker, bringing him closer to her, if that were even possible.

He had fallen, and she was dancing on the precipice.

With a strength beyond will, he tore himself from her, taking a few measured steps away from her. Tucking his hands into his pockets, preventing himself from doing something that they both weren't ready for, his fingers brushed the package that he had hidden there earlier. Almost has an afterthought, he slid the gift from his pocket as he glanced back up at her, taking in the glazed look in her eyes. He grinned, amused when her gaze jerked up to his. He tossed the wrapped box to her, and she snapped out of her daze long enough to catch it with both hands, curiously turning it over to peer at the name on the tag. A slow, satisfied smile spread on his lips as he took in her puzzled, yet pleased expression when she noticed that the name was hers. "Merry Christmas, Rory." With a wink and a heart-stopping grin, he walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Her fingers tucked carefully around the precious gift, she took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne lingering on her shirt and hair. Her lips were still puffy, reminiscent of his kisses. "Merry Christmas, Tristan." Her only answer was her voice echoing in the silence of the room.

*****

He had walked down half of the slippery, ice-covered path before the dim light from the Gilmore's living room beckoned to him like a lighthouse beacon would to a stranded ship. His eyes followed her slender figure as she walked into the room and took a seat on the couch, the lights from the Christmas tree making it appear that fairy dust had been dabbled across her skin. She was still holding his gift unopened in her hands, seemingly deep in a range of whirling thoughts. As if sensing his presence, she glanced towards the window and saw nothing but her reflection staring back at her.

Outside, the skies had burst open, and flurries of snow were now swirling around him as he hunkered down against the icy breeze that pierced its fingers right through his heavy sweater. He recognized the familiar dread at having to return to that cold mansion, empty of any real feeling. The bitter, void mood threatened to consume him yet again, smothering him under its vast emotions of anger and helplessness.

But then his thoughts turned to Rory and her obvious acceptance of him. Her willingness and eagerness to return his kiss. And, for the first time in a long while, he felt warmth. With one last longing look in her direction, a wistful smile on his lips, he turned and disappeared into the night.

*****

After turning the package over and over in her hands several times, almost as if she were still a little girl prolonging the excitement on Christmas morning, she slid her finger underneath the thin layers of tape, freeing the box from the deep green paper. Gingerly removing the satin bow, she lifted away the delicate layers of tissue paper, revealing the contents of the box. And her gasp was clearly audible in the quiet room, only muffled by the slight crack of embers from the fireplace. With a shaking hand, she lifted the angel out of the box, blonde hair forming a golden halo that crested down her back, hand reaching out for her perfect match, her other half. The one already hanging from the highest bough on the Gilmore Christmas tree.


End file.
